Wing Jones(26)

Marcus saved for that car himself, by working two summers in a pizzeria downtown. He didn’t want to work in the Chinese restaurant my mom works at, because he didn’t want my mom to be his boss, and he didn’t want my mom to see him flirting with the customers to get a bigger tip. I wonder what Monica thought of all that flirting over orders of pepperoni pizza and pitchers of Coke.

His car was ugly, ten years old already and a rusty orange. He loved it, though. Even started teaching me to drive in it. I got my permit a couple weeks after I turned fifteen.

I’ll never drive that car again.

I always thought my brother was such a good driver. He got a perfect score on his driving test, and never got pulled over. Not even once.

I see Monica hurrying across the parking lot, head down, hair hiding her face, so she doesn’t see me standing next to her car.

“Hi,” I say when she reaches me, and I swear she jumps a foot in the air.

“Shit! Wing! You gave me a heart attack,” she says, her hand on her chest, and her face is so pale it’s easy to believe that I have. She stares at me, eyes harder than I’ve ever seen them. I force myself to remember that this is the same Monica who threw herself against me in the hospital waiting room, who has brushed my hair, baked cookies with me, taken me shopping.

“Um,” I say. “I was wondering … um…”

“What?” she says, and then panic flits across her face, distorting her features. “Oh my God. Is it Marcus? Has something happened?”

“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “That isn’t it.”

She exhales loudly. “Oh, thank God.” Then she squints at me. “So what is it?”

I stare at the asphalt. “I, um … just wanted to … you know … see if you were OK.”

She makes an ugly rasping sound, and I look up quickly, worried that she might be choking, and then I realize she is doing some sort of twisted pantomime of a laugh, and it is nothing like the laugh I know.

“OK? If I’m OK? What do you think? Are you OK? Seriously. Am I OK?” She makes that sound again, the one that isn’t a laugh, the one that sounds like she’s spitting out the broken parts of herself on the ground.

“I’m not OK,” I say, so quietly I think that maybe she didn’t hear me. “And I know you aren’t OK. I thought … I thought…” This was so stupid. Marcus isn’t the person I thought he was. Maybe Monica isn’t either. The Monica I knew wouldn’t stare at me with dead eyes and make me uncomfortable.

“You thought what?” Her voice is so full of venom I’m sure that when I look back up I’ll see Heather Parker behind her, and Monica won’t be Monica at all but a ventriloquist’s dummy.

“Nothing,” I say, turning so she can’t see my face. “I thought nothing.” I don’t want to pass her, so I push myself between her pickup and the SUV next to it, but the space is too tight and I can’t fit through it and now I have to turn around. I turn and nearly step on Monica. She’s right next to me and she’s biting her lip and her fists are balled up in her sweatshirt. Marcus’s sweatshirt.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?” she says.





CHAPTER 15


I try not to think about the last time I was in Monica’s car. It is too painful. When she puts the keys in the ignition, I can’t help but notice her hands are shaking.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to drive. After seeing the accident,” she says in a conversational tone. As if she’s telling me she has a hair appointment. I don’t say anything. I can sense she wants to talk.

“But what else am I gonna do? Take the bus? Take MARTA? My mom let me stay home for four days, but then it was back to school. Back to life. ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ she said…”

I inhale so sharply she glances over. “I don’t think that,” she says. “But you know my parents…”

“No, I don’t,” I say, looking out the window. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “I’ve only met them a few times.”

“I don’t think that! This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Do you understand that? And it isn’t ever going to get better. It’s a nightmare. No, it’s worse than a nightmare. Because you can wake up from nightmares. It’s like my whole life has been some sort of dream and now I’ve woken up and all I want is to go back to sleep, back to how things were, but I’m never going to. He killed two people, Wing! Two people are dead and it’s Marcus’s fault. And he’s … he’s whatever the hell he is right now. What am I supposed to do? All I want to do is be with him and I can’t. I can’t.” She hits her steering wheel. “It’s so unfair. Why did this happen? We had plans, you know. We had plans.” She’s crying now but I don’t think she notices and her tears keep falling and there’s snot running down her upper lip.

“Typical Marcus,” she says, and the bitterness in her tone makes the air taste like burnt toast. “Royally screws up and can’t handle the consequences so goes into a goddamn coma.” She slams on the brakes at a red light and I wonder if maybe she shouldn’t be driving. If maybe she should be on some kind of medication. Because this Monica, this is a stranger. A crazy stranger.